


The Pressure Valve

by QuickWit



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003), Castle, Doctor Who, Wicked - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossover, F/F, F/M, Gen, Mild Language, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 15:34:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5831095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickWit/pseuds/QuickWit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chapters, scenes, and snippets from plot bunnies too bothersome to ignore. From a number of different fandoms, this is a collection of things written, many pieces from larger stories that may or may not ever be finished. Rating and tags will be modified as we go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. BSG - The Agency Sequel

**Author's Note:**

> An early scene from the (broken) promised Agency AU sequel. I started writing this story as soon as I'd finished the first one. It was set to delve deeper into the history and mythos of Director Roslin - particularly how she became who she was, answering questions about her past hinted at in the final scene of the first story, and as such included a lot of flashbacks to her early years with The Agency. I've added drips and drabs to it over the years, but I'm not sure it will ever be finished.

**Scene** **From** **The** **Agency** **Sequel**

  
  
_His grip was bruising on Laura’s ankle as he caught her foot and yanked before releasing her. Had she not been sweating, panting, and running on adrenaline, she would have rolled her eyes at her own stupidity. She should have anticipated the movement and had no one to blame bar herself when her back hit the mat hard enough to knock the wind out of her._

_With a cough and a gasp, she looked up. Her attacker was smirking as he moved into the kill. Aching, but certainly not beaten, Laura made a believable effort to escape and allowed him to get in just close enough before she kicked him in the head._

_She was on her feet before he’d finished reeling, jabbing a sharp elbow into the side of his face. He recovered quicker than she thought he would, wiping away the blood from his split eyebrow and suddenly charging._

_Laura didn’t dodge, as she knew he thought she would, simply stood her ground and waited until he was in range before throwing a fist towards his face. He looked surprised, but was able to duck under her arm, laughing as he swatted her arse and danced behind her._

_Her foot slamming against his face wiped the amusement from it and he stumbled a bit as she moved closer to take him down. He grabbed her around the midsection, but Laura reacted quickly, kneeing him in the stomach, and then following him to the floor with a sucker punch._

_They wrestled for a long minute, him struggling to get the upper hand and Laura fighting to keep it, but after a moment she was able to pin him to the floor and straddle his chest._

_“You got me,” he panted. “I surrender.”_

_Surprised, as she certainly had never expected him to give up while he was still conscious, Laura was momentarily distracted. He struck, using his heavier body weight and reversing their positions, sprawling himself atop her and pinning her down._

_“Or not,” he smirked._

_She smirked right back, brought up her knee and watched, half amused, half guilty, as his eyes rolled back in his head and he groaned painfully. A slight shove to his shoulder and he was off her and curling into a ball on the ground._

_“Low blow, Red,” he grunted, his voice muffled from the mat. “Frakkin’ low blow.”_

_Laura laughed, but before she could open her mouth to tell him that he was the one who taught her to take every advantage she could get, a shadow filled the doorway. John Borders smirked at the sight of the younger man on the ground._

_His smile was almost unnoticeable when he turned his gaze to Laura. “Help the boy up, will you, Pistol-Whip? You’ve got work to do.”_

_She held out her hand and he used it to pull himself to his feet, wincing as he did so, but enquiring evenly, “Something come up?”_

_Borders’ face lost all sign of amusement. “Doctor Rivaldi has been sighted. You two are headed to Aerilon. With any luck, our mad scientist friend will be dead by tomorrow.”_

 

~~~~~

 

“The file, Billy?” Laura asked as she headed for her office.

“I sent Dee to get it,” he told her. “What do you need me to do, Director?”

“Contact all the section Chiefs. Conference call in an hour. And I want to see Starbuck and Apollo in fifteen.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Billy nodded and then slid in behind his desk.

Laura stepped into her office, knowing Bill was right behind her. She practically slumped into a couch, removing her glasses and rubbing her eyes. She did not need this right now. Hell, she did not need this ever.

As if her dreams - nightmares that were actually memories - had been prophetic, somehow that bastard had gotten out and he brought along a tidal wave of things Laura had thought she was past. Guilt and pain and regrets that ran deeper than her own blood.

Bill was sitting across from her, his eyes taking in her reaction to the news, but he did not break the silence. Laura didn’t want to look at him. Didn’t want to explain, because even if she gave him the basics, he’d keep asking, keep probing. She’d worked so hard to put that time - the worst of her life - behind her.

Finally, with a resigned sigh, she met Bill’s inquisitive gaze. And for the first time since she’d told him that she did not want to pursue a romantic relationship with him - though she did, desperately, she just _couldn’t_ \- tension did not build.

He just sat there, patiently waiting, giving her all the time and the space she needed. Gods, she wanted to hate him for that. Why couldn’t he be angry at her, start a fight so that she could get good and properly pissed with him and use it to push all of her fanciful notions away?

But no, he had to be caring and understanding. The bastard.

“Old friend from home is the code we use for rogue agents.”

He frowned. “I don’t remember it from the list you gave me to learn all of the phrases.”

“It wasn’t on it. I didn’t think it would be important for you to know, not as immediately as the others were, anyway. I’d always intended to teach you everything, but I didn’t think it was necessary at the current time.”

“Obviously you were wrong.”

“Yes, thank you, I know that,” she snapped. Then stopped herself and took a deep breath. “The Agency has had a long history. A lot of people have been trained by us, worked for us. It’s inevitable that a few of those people would turn out to be different than what we thought of them. But usually, we’ve been able to contain them quickly.”

“Like Tory Foster.”

“Yes,” Laura agreed, thinking of the young woman she’d ordered executed. “Like Tory. Thus, that particular code phrase was only ever needed as a precaution. Because in all of the Agency’s history, there’s only ever been one agent gone rogue that was not dealt with swiftly. He was eventually contained, but due to measures he’d put in place, we weren’t able to kill him.”

“And now he’s no longer contained,” Bill presumed.

Laura nodded, then tilted her head and permitted entrance when there was a knock on the door. Dee entered, a file in her hand, walking hesitantly towards the Director. She’d been with the Agency for two months and she was still uncomfortable around Laura.

 _“I think you intimidate her,”_ Billy had confided when she’d questioned him as they’d shared dinner one night. _“You’re a confidant, powerful woman, who’s also able to kill her with your bare hands. You intimidate me, sometimes.”_

Good, Laura had thought at the time. It was her job to scare the life out of the rest of the world, if only to keep them in line. But now she was tiring of it, so she accepted the file from the younger woman with a warm smile.

“Thank you, Dee.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am,” she replied, backing out again.

Once the door was closed behind the younger woman, Laura traced the name on the front of the unblemished red file, the only one in their records. Any other red file had a heavy black printed **‘Eradicated’** on the front.

It was a name she’d desperately hoped to never hear or see or even think of again. Because, in the grand scheme of things, if Laura Roslin had an arch nemesis, he was it.

_“Can you kill me, Laura?”_

She should have, she knew that. Should have put a bullet between his eyes when she’d had the chance, when he was broken and bleeding on the ground in front of her, unarmed, but still so frakking smug.

_“Can you kill me, Laura?”_

_“If I have to.”_

_“Then do it.”_

She hadn’t. For twenty years she’d known it would come back and bite her in the ass one day, but as the years had slipped by, she’d thought that maybe it really was over. She should’ve known better, the Gods had never given her a break before.

And that bastard had just been biding his time.

_“It can only end this way between us, Laura. One of us dead. I’ll never stop fighting for what I believe in and you won’t either. It can only end this way.”_

He haunted her like a ghost, slithering in and out of her memories and dreams and thoughts like the snake that he was. Making her question everything she’d ever known was true. Making her question herself.

_“Can you kill me, Laura?”_

“Laura?”

She blinked at Bill and cleared her throat and her mind. “He has to be stopped, Bill. He’s the most dangerous man I’ve ever met. Persuasive and charming, he’ll talk you into doing things, betraying everything that’s most important to you, and he’ll make you believe that it’s perfectly reasonable. Then when you’ve done what he wants, he’ll smile at you while you’re stabbed in the back. And he’ll keep smiling at you while he watches you die.”

When she met her Chief’s face again, she knew she was worrying him. The lines around his eyes and on his forehead were deeper and the glint in his iris’ told her exactly what he was thinking. She was scaring him.

With a sigh, feeling as if the weight of the worlds were on her back even more than she usually did, Laura passed over the file and asked him, “What do you know about Tom Zarek?”

 


	2. Wicked-Minecraft Fusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An AU Oz that's Minecraft-esque, a world where monsters come out at night, potions and enchanted weapons are the norm, and Kiamo Ko is made of obsidian. At the author's discretion, pieces from the canon of the musical, the book (mostly the book), and Minecraft have been picked and cobbled together, with the rest just made up. 
> 
> In this world of monsters and magic, Elphaba and her friends have an odd-job business that leans towards the dangerous and downright crazy. Glinda, in dire need, seeks them out, but Boq turns down her request. Elphaba disagrees. This is around the third chapter of that story, that probably won't ever be finished, and it's Elphaba and Glinda's first meeting. It got away from me, to be honest, because no matter what I tried and how many different ways I explained that it wasn't appropriate quite yet, they just wouldn't stop flirting with each other.

**Our** **Dear** **Miss** **Elphaba**  
 **(The** **Fine** **Line** **Between** **Genius** **And** **Madness)**

  
It had probably been destined to go awry from the moment they’d changed carriages. It certainly wouldn’t have happened like it did with Oatsie manning the reigns, but the driver only rode the Vinkus, so as soon as they’d crossed the border back into Gillikin she’d bid them farewell.

Two days into their trip, heading for Shiz and the train so that Glinda could go home to her parents (as she’d told her husband she was doing originally) to deal with the reality of her situation, and the abrupt halting of the carriage brought her out of rather dire musings.

“What in Oz’s name —?” began their new driver, who’s name Glinda hadn’t bothered to learn, and then he yelped loudly.

There was a crash nearby, and a sharp, grumbling voice started cursing horribly. It got louder, approaching, and Glinda heard it say, “— stupid piece of crap, do that again and I swear I’ll use you for kindling!”

“Witch!” shouted the driver, and Miss Murth screamed as Glinda’s heart leapt into her throat.

In these woods, it wouldn’t be completely unheard of to encounter one of the deranged magical creatures who’s first reaction was to throw a vial of dangerous potion. She’d heard horror stories of travellers being poisoned to their last legs and then dragged away from the road, never to be seen again. Used as ingredients, eaten, tortured for months and months until death would be a kindness; who knew what happened to them.

“I’m not — Well, I am, just not the kind you’re thinking of. Look, I’m not here to hurt anybody, I just want to — What the hell are you doing?”

Cherrystone’s voice, “Back away, witch! My sword is enchanted!”

“Watch where you’re pointing that thing, you bumbling imbecile!”

“Quick, Captain! Before it curses us!”

“I’m not going to — For the love of the Unnamed — Fine! If you insist!”

_Whoosh!_

A resounding crash rattled the carriage, and then there was a long minute of silence before the door was pulled open. A head poked in and Glinda couldn’t help but stare, horrified. Miss Murth, sobbing by this point, promptly fainted. Glinda didn’t blame her. She’d heard about witches, of course, but none of the stories had ever mentioned that they were _green_.

She was convinced she was about to die, or worse, right up until the witch spoke again. “Oh, really now. That’s completely unnecessary,” said with an eye roll in Miss Murth’s direction, before endlessly dark eyes turned to Glinda. “Lady Chuffrey. So what is so important in The End that you’re willing to risk my life to get your hands on it?”

Glinda stared at her stupidly, processing the words, then breathed a deep sigh of relief. A witch, yes, but not the kind that roam the woods in search of prey. At least, she didn’t think so. “Elphaba Thropp, I presume?”

The green woman looked baffled. “Yes. I said that, didn’t I?”

Glinda huffed as she climbed to her feet, then brushed past the woman, out of the carriage. “You most certainly did not.”

“Oh,” Miss Elphaba mused as Glinda, wide eyed, took in the sight of her driver slumped against the carriage. “I probably should have lead with it.”

Cherrystone was several feet away, in the same unmoving condition. “Are they …?”

“Sleeping,” said the Witch with a casual wave of her hand. “They’ll wake up soon enough.”

“And in the meantime, you’ve left me defenseless!”

“Hardly. I’m here, aren’t I? Far better protection from the things that go bump in the night than an old man with an enchanted sword.” She bent down over said sword as she spoke, then reached out to touch it with a finger, scoffing in disgust when she did. “Unbreaking. Not even a simple Sharpness or something else actually useful. No bow, either. Like he’d get close enough to a witch to do any damage before he was poisoned.”

She rose again, sword in hand, and turned piercingly astute eyes to Glinda. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“What question?”

“What is so important in The End that you’ll risk my life to obtain it?”

Glinda eyed her with interest. With all she’d picked up since she’d first heard this woman’s name, she was terribly fascinated by the genuine article before her. “Master Boq said he wasn’t going to tell you about my request.”

She was tall, dark and severe. Intimidating, was the first impression, with the sharp angles of her face and her flowing black clothing - a cape over a long dress, and a dreadfully hideous hat that seemed to suit her perfectly. And _green_. So very green.

“He didn’t,” she answered. “He gave me a book. He only does that when he wants my focus elsewhere. So I endeavoured to discover what he was keeping me from. Not difficult, in all honesty. Between you and I, he might be a bit mad. He has a questionable habit of talking to himself. I spied on him. Well, he calls it spying. I don’t understand why exactly I can’t lurk about in whatever shadows I damn well please in my own home, but he was rather disgusted with me.

“Nobody else really knew anything, or they might have, I’m not entirely certain. They were all quite cagey about it. Except Yackle, but I’ve no idea what she says on a good day, and yesterday wasn’t a good day. That tiny Munchkin idiot refused to tell me the particulars, so I decided I’d come straight to the source.”

Without consent Glinda found herself oddly hypnotised by the woman’s speech pattern. So enthralled with following the words, she barely realised they’d ended. “Me.”

“Obviously. Now are you going to answer my question any time soon, or stare at me until night falls and I let the zombies have you?”

“You’re incredibly blunt, Miss Elphaba.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Most people would consider it so.”

There was something equally unnerving and alluring about that dark gaze. “And are you most people, Lady Chuffrey?”

Being looked at as she was Glinda felt as if her entire being were being assessed, and the outcome depended very little upon the answer to the question. She gave it her best anyway. “If I were, would I be seeking out your services?”

A bark of surprised laughter left the green woman’s throat. “No, I don’t suppose you would be. Hurry it up then, tell me the story. What led you to my house of ill-repute? The cliff-notes version if you will. I’ve little patience for anyone’s rampant blathering but my own.”

Alright then. “I’m dying.” It did not get easier the more she said it. “Nothing else will fix me, so I’ve decided to brew the End-All Potion.”

Impossibly, the gaze grew more intent. Glinda felt like immobilised prey under Miss Elphaba’s eyes; wanting instinctively to run, but completely incapable of getting her body to comply.

“Ender Dragon blood. The key component.”

“Yes,” Glinda confirmed, surprised she was capable of speaking, she felt so trapped.

Then the other woman looked away, down at the sword she held, breaking the connection. With one hand on the hilt, she wrapped the other around the blade. Glinda could feel the magic rising. _Power_ , her senses whispered in awe. She could taste it in the air, so very strong, bitter on the back of her tongue, it was quite unlike anything she’d ever known before.

“We’re all dying,” murmured the Witch - for that’s what she undoubtedly was: a very, very powerful Witch; Oatsie’s reverence made much more sense now - as she wove the strands of enchantment together, by hand, no anvil in sight. “Hardly seems a good reason to ask a group of people to go on a suicide mission in an attempt to prevent it.”

“I realise the selfishness of my request,” Glinda released on a shaky breath, unsure of what was happening inside her head and completely bothered by it. “But I want to _live_.”

“Do you?” The sword was leant against the side of the carriage, then between blinks, Miss Elphaba was directly before Glinda. Had she been capable, Glinda would have shrieked and stumbled away, but she was again captured. “Do you really want to live so badly you would condemn others to your fate?”

Close enough to smell. Sweat and musk, and something deeper that was dark and wild, untamed. It brought to mind riding horses at full gallop, speed and wind and risk. Something both dangerous and freeing.

“I’ve taken my life for granted,” Glinda said shakily. “Made nothing of it and never thought so much about it. But now that I see its end, I want little more than to live.”

“We always want most what we can’t have,” said the Witch quietly, her stare unwavering. “And you’ve not answered my question. Again.”

“No. No, I do not want to live that badly,” Glinda confessed on a breath. “I hadn’t thought so far ahead when I asked. It’s not the first time I’ve been a selfish fool. I’ll excuse myself it though, because wouldn’t you do the same? To save your own life?”

“My life?” asked Miss Elphaba with a wry curl to her lips. “No. Yours? I may do more than just ask yet, Lady Chuffrey.”

And with just those words, that uncrushable spark of hope flickered back into a flame. Glinda did her best to ignore it, because, “No, I have already said my request was a selfish one. I won’t ask you to do this, Miss Elphaba.”

“I’m offering,” said the Witch, lightness returning to her frame and making her step seem springy as she strode several paces away. “I’ve never been to The End. I should like to see it. And if I can save your pretty little head while I’m there, then why not?”

She spun on her heel startlingly quickly, looking at Glinda again as she spoke, “We will, of course, run through our options before we undertake this endeavour. No point going if someone has a jar of the stuff stashed away in their attic, is there?” She seemed almost disappointed by the prospect.

“No,” said Glinda slowly. “But I doubt either of us are that lucky.”

“Indeed. I’m green and you’re dying. Luck doesn’t seem to be in our favour, does it?”

“Master Boq claimed The Charmed Circle Group had incredible luck against unfortunate odds.”

A scoff. “Boq is a moron. What he calls luck, I call careful planning and fast thinking. I am not lucky, Lady Chuffrey, I am clever. Which is why I definitely won’t be using that same servants entrance when I break into the Wizard’s Palace again.”

“The Wizard’s Palace?”

“For the End Portal,” said the Witch distractedly, brow already furrowed in thought. “I’ll need time to study it, so I’ll have to go undetected for a good while.”

“Miss Elphaba?”

“Won’t be easy, since the old man seems to have a sixth sense as to when I’m about …”

“Miss Elphaba?” Glinda attempted again, more firmly.

“Boq would probably say to just ask,” spat the Witch, in a world of her own, one hand rubbing absently at her hip. “But I refuse to ask anything of that rat bastard. I’m liable to just get shot again anyway. His balloon doesn’t hold as much hot air as he does.”

“ _Miss_ _Elphaba_!”

“What!?”

Finally, she had her attention. “Breaking into the Wizard’s Palace won’t be necessary.”

“Don’t tell me: he’s a personal friend and you can just ask. You should know he lies as easily as he breathes, you can’t trust —“

“Miss Elphaba, please! Let me finish!”

“Go on then.”

“Thank you,” Glinda said dryly. “It won’t be necessary because I know the location of another End Portal.”

Glinda felt perversely pleased to see the surprise spread across the sharp, green face. “You do?”

“Yes.”

A long pause, and then, “Well, where is it then?”

“Mockbeggar Hall.”

“Munchkinland? Huh.”

“My husband owns it,” Glinda explained. “I chose it as my primary residence some time ago and have been having it overhauled. Renovations revealed a stronghold beneath.”

“That’s … convenient.”

“It’s actually what sparked the idea to look into the End-All Potion,” she said. “When they found the Portal, very shortly after I’d been told there was no hope for me … I vaguely remembered reading something about it years ago. It doesn’t work. The stones are all there, but the eyes —“

The Witch waved off the concern. “Easy enough to come by. Every stone?”

“Not one so much as damaged.”

The green woman stalked closer to Glinda, predatorily, smiling a grin of sharp teeth. “Then they shall be first on my list of compensation. I know someone who can remove them.”

Even entranced as she was by the graceful motion of the other woman’s body, Glinda had not quite lost all her senses. “Compensation? You offered to do this. I’m not hiring you.”

“You think I’ll do it for nothing at all?”

“You’ve no need for money.”

“Don’t I just? And how, Lady Chuffrey, do you know that?”

“I don’t know why I have to keep telling you people that I’m not a fool. Even if I couldn’t logically conclude that a job as dangerous as yours demands high compensation, I travelled into unknown territory to meet with your group. I found it prudent to do a little digging before I left. Certainly enough to know that the Eminent Thropp of Nest Hardings is far from bereft.”

A scowl came across the green face. “My sister is the Eminent.”

“Mockbeggar may be closer to the Emerald City than it is the Corn Basket, but I receive enough Munchkins that I do understand some of your hierarchal system. Thropp’s cannot abdicate. You are the Eminent until you die. Your sister rules in your stead, entitled to as your heir, but she cannot take the title until she buries you.

“In fact, I’m aware enough to know that that’s likely the only thing keeping Munchkinland from seceding from Oz and beginning a war. She doesn’t have the authority to do it, and you can’t be bothered.”

“Ah, at last, a suitable reason for my continued good health.”

“You may be the single most unusual person I’ve ever met.”

“What makes you think that? My skin tone, or my charming personality?”

“You make light of your own life and yet you offer to risk near certain death for the sake of mine.” The tears came upon her quite suddenly. Only one fell, and Glinda took the opportunity to look away from the other woman when she wiped it away. “Why, Miss Elphaba, I do believe you’ve touched me.”

“I’ve done no such thing and I’ll deny it shall you tell anybody otherwise.”

The laughter was just as sudden, bubbling from Glinda’s mouth without consent. She looked back up to find Miss Elphaba looking at her, a baffled, but vaguely pleased expression on her face at the realisation she’d evoked such a response.

“I find myself inexplicably liking you, Miss Elphaba.”

“Don’t get too attached, I’ve just agreed to a suicide mission.”

That sobered her up smartly. “Yes. You have.” She took a deep breath. “And while I appreciate the gesture - and I can’t even explain to you how much it means to me - I simply cannot allow you to do this.”

When Miss Elphaba laughed this time, it wasn’t the quick, sharp bark Glinda had previously heard. It was a full-blown cackle, high and biting, the kind of thing that made the hair on the back of ones neck stand up.

“Lady Chuffrey, when, do you suppose, was the last time anyone _let_ _me_ do anything?” She shook her head with mirth. “Let me. I do believe Crope and Tibbet may never stop laughing when I tell them of this.”

“I am serious, Miss Elphaba,” Glinda stated forcefully. “You can’t do this. Must I say it again? I was being selfish. But now that I’ve realised it, how could I possibly live with myself - for however long that may be - if I stand by while you trade your life for mine? I’m already dying, Miss Elphaba. What good does it do for you to join me?”

The Witch’s humour was gone quickly. “Firstly, you’re assuming that I’ll fail. I don’t often fail, Lady Chuffrey - though, admittedly, when I do, it’s in most spectacular fashion. Running, screaming, fire, blood and death and tears and all that. I didn’t much like it at all the last time it happened, I think I’ll certainly lose whatever shreds of my sanity remain if it were to happen again, so you understand I’m even more stubborn against allowing it to reoccur.”

_Fiyero_ , something told Glinda. That was the last time. The brief flashes of utter despair and gripping grief that crossed the green woman’s face were enough confirmation and even though Glinda didn’t know the whole story, what Avaric gave her, and what she saw now, were enough to tell a tale of dreadful loss.

“You’re also still assuming that you have any say in what I do. Ask my father - any of them, take your pick, I’ve practically got a horde of them - just how well I respond to someone telling me I can’t do something. It tends to have the opposite effect of what you desired. In fact, I’m a perfect example of the effectiveness of reverse psychology. The easiest way to get me to do something is to tell me not to do it.

“Lastly, playing the martyr doesn’t quite suit you, Lady Chuffrey. Leave it to the experts, if you will, we’re far better at it. Again, you’re forgetting that I’m not exactly doing this out of the goodness of my heart,” the words were dripping with contempt. “It’s been said I don’t have one, so that’s not my reason.”

She stepped up close to Glinda again, the aura around her once more gluing the shorter woman to the spot. “I want to do this. I _will_ do this. And I will do it well. And you can rest your pretty head, because I’ll be well paid for my endeavour. Other than the end stones and the fact that your single dose of necessary dragon’s blood will not even make a dent in what I’ll make, or what I can _do_ , with an _entire_ _Ender_ _Dragon_ worth of ingredients, I’m sure there are several other ways I can think of that you can compensate me fairly.”

“Still expecting me to pay for a job I didn’t hire you for, then?” murmured Glinda, resisting an urge to touch emerald skin, just to see what it felt like.

A smirk worked over Miss Elphaba’s lips. “You’ve put it in my head to go to The End and slay the dragon, princess. Even dull witted knight’s received payment at the end of the stories. A kiss and a kingdom, usually.”

“I don’t have a kingdom to give you.”

“Then the kiss will have to do.”

Mouth dry, Glinda’s eyes, which had, without thought, drifted down to lips, shot back to intent dark pools. “Miss Elphaba, are you flirting with me?”

“I may be. I’m not entirely certain. If I am, it’s not insincere, but it is unintentional. I’m not exactly trained in the arts of social interactions. In fact, I interact about as well as Chistery recites poetry.”

Warm amusement brought a smile to Glinda’s mouth. “I actually thought you were doing quite well.”

“Was I? Then perhaps there is something to Boq’s crap about good luck and bad odds.”

“Incredible luck against unfortunate odds,” Glinda quoted.

“Remember what I said about other peoples blathering. My way is quicker.”

“For someone who doesn’t like chatter, you talk quite a bit.”

“I rant, mostly. By its very nature it tends to be long winded.”

Glinda blinked at the blatant honesty, opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off by a groan. When she turned her head, she saw Captain Cherrystone beginning to stir.

“Ah, that’s my cue,” said Miss Elphaba. “Come on then, you stupid matchstick,” she demanded, holding out her hand. The forgotten broomstick some distance away bounced and wiggled, rising from the ground but not approaching. “Don’t be stubborn, or I’ll whittle you down into a chew toy for Killjoy.

“I’ll be in touch soon, Lady Chuffrey. After all, we’ve precious little time to waste,” she said as the broom rocketed into her palm.

“Wait!” Glinda cried before she could leave. “I’ve a demand of my own to make.”

“Do you now? Not enough I’m offering to save your life, you want something else?”

“I’m coming with you.”

Again, Glinda was excessively proud of the look of surprise she got in response. “You’re what now?”

“When you go to The End, I’m coming with you.”

“Are you just?”

“Yes.”  
  
 Tense moments of silence followed, until Miss Elphaba smiled widely. “Very well.”

It was Glinda’s turn to be shocked. “Very well?”

“Why not? With your skills, I doubt you’ll be as much of a liability as most people would assume. You might even be an asset.”

“My skills?”

“You’re not the only one who did a little research, Lady Chuffrey,” she said, with a sly smile. “You were accepted into Shiz, but never attended. Chose instead to get married, I assume, though I can hardly fathom why. Nonetheless, you showed an aptitude for magic - must be the Arduennna in you. I understand you were privately tutored by Madame Greyling. A bit daft, but count your blessings you weren’t stuck with Horrible Morrible. Dreadful old trout, she is.

“And besides, if we fail in our mission, you’re dead anyway, what’s it matter if that death occurs here, or in The End?”

She mounted her broom and rose into the air, hovering a few feet up. “Tell the old man to be careful with that sword. It might actually do some damage now and it probably wouldn’t do for him to slice off his own hand. I’ll be seeing you soon, Lady Chuffrey.”

She flew away, cackling on the wind, ending the single most intense encounter that Glinda had experienced in her whole life.

 


	3. Castle-Doctor Who Crossover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Castle-Doctor Who Crossover. Pretty self-explanatory. As I've worked it out it is a story in three (maybe four) parts, with three different Doctors and Companion!Beckett. This is the prologue. The first chapter is also written. I'd really, really love to finish this, because I had a lot of fun writing what I've got, but I need an inspiration kick for it. Maybe I should have a marathon, alternating DW and the weirder Castle eps.

**Timey-Wimey**

  
  
To be perfectly honest, Kate Beckett was expecting something to go wrong.

Oh, she knew they’d still get there, but she’d been waiting for something to throw a spanner in the works. A case that wouldn’t let up, an old foe coming out of the woodwork, their caterer dying under mysterious circumstances; she was sure something would happen to make them work a little harder to get to their perfect moment on their perfect day.

But this?

Aliens ruin her wedding.

_Aliens_ ruin her _wedding_ , and she’s not even joking.

Nor is she armed. Castle probably would have gotten a kick out of her packing heat beneath her pristine white dress, but Kate had stupidly assumed that her wedding day would be the one day of her entire fucking life where no one would require shooting.

Lesson learnt. She makes a mental note to carry a small arsenal on her person during the honeymoon.

They hunker down as another blast of bright green light slams into the table they’re taking cover behind and the resulting destruction showers them in confetti like pieces of what had just moments before been elegant flower arrangements.

“ _Aliens_ ,” Castle keeps repeating in a breathy little whisper. “Kate, they’re aliens!”

She’s a little bit pissed off that he sounds more excited than upset. Also, a little bit turned on because the bow on his tux has come loose and he’s all ruffled and … _rugged_.

_Ugh_. Aliens, _Kate_. _Focus_.

There are at least thirty cops in the room, she can see Espo and Ryan, with Lanie and Jenny, taking cover not far from them, but no one thought to bring a weapon, so they’re pinned down and defenceless.

A body sliding in next to her jostle’s her into her almost-husband and even while she does a double take at the face she finds, she’s not terribly surprised by his sudden appearance - not in light of the alien attack, anyway.

“What are you doing here?” she snaps, glaring at him.

He’s exactly as she remembers him. Tall and lanky, his hair a floppy mess, wearing his stupid bow tie, but his tweed has been replaced by a nice dark brown, more formal suit, to which he gestures in response to her question.

“What do you think I’m doing here?” his accented voice questions. “My invitation must have gotten lost in the mail - admittedly, my postal address isn’t easy to keep tabs on - but do you really think I’d miss your wedding day, Katherine Beckett?”

She wants to smack him around the ears. “And you brought a date?” she growls, jarringly gesturing towards the uninvited guests currently trying to kill them all.

He’s sheepish. “I didn’t realize they were following me. I _am_ very sorry.”

Another blast has them all flinching and then Castle’s unsure voice is in her ear, “Uh … Kate? Friend of yours?”

He’s understandably confused, because this - this strange man and her time with him - is the one story she’s never told him, despite always knowing that it would be the one he’d love the most.

She’s never told anyone, because it’s _crazy_. Sometimes, even she struggles to convince herself it was real, that she actually was, once, whisked off a beat in Manhattan and pulled through time and space hand-in-hand with a madman in a blue box.

“That’s one way to put it,” she answers Castle, while at the same time her strange ‘friend’ is reaching around her to hold out his hand to her fiancé.

“Yes,” is his answer. “It’s so good to meet you, Mr. Castle. I _love_ your books. I’m the Doctor.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cue When Kate Met The Doctor. Fuck, I really should work on this.


End file.
